The Road Less Traveled
by katherineregina
Summary: It is common knowledge that Sherlock Holmes is not afraid of anything. Well, almost anything. His obsession with avoiding the ordinary has lead him many different places. However, one day, something propels Sherlock to do something he's never done- something so ordinary he thought he would always evade it... Sherlock Holmes decides to take a vacation.


**Chapter 1: The Declaration**

John was doing it _again. _He was giving Sherlock his famous blank stare. Eyebrows slightly raised, eyes wide open, mouth ajar but in an unforgiving smirk. He wasn't responding. Nothing about the look surprised Sherlock. It was only surprising that John had managed to still conjure it up, after all these years.

"Is the idea really _that _proprosterious?" Sherlock snarled, rolling his eyes before getting up from the sofa. John had been holding Rosie on his lap. She was fussy today, eyes filled with big tears. She had thrown a major tantrum only an hour later because John wouldn't allow her to play with Sherlock's latest experiment (Sherlock had protested, obviously. He affirmed that a one year old should learn the effects of pouring acetone on severed toes. She was a female, afterall. Her chances of losing a toe while painting her fingernails was greater than that of a male).

In one big swoop, Sherlock picked the child up in his arms. Rosie instantly snuggled into his chest, glaring at her father. They made a dangerous pair in the case against of John Watson. He gently rocked her as he walked over to the window. Rosie snuggled deeper into Sherlock's shoulder, firmly planting a position of attack as she squinted at her father as if to say _see, Sherlock would let me play with severed toes._

John, despite Rosie's best efforts, was unphased by his daughter's pout. If he wasn't so distracted by Sherlock's recent declaration, he would have dove head first into a tirade about the dangers of toddlers playing with severed body parts. Although, deep down, he didn't think such an explanation was necessary. It was a consequence of his choice. He knew moving back in with Sherlock after Mary's death had been the right decision. He was broken and Baker Street was the place that had put him back together once before. Despite this, John never foresaw the consequences of raising a child around Sherlock. Sherlock and Rosie had become thick as thieves. She was a constant curiosity to his flatmate and soon she had Sherlock wrapped around her tiny fingers. In a way, Baker Street saved John and Rosie saved Sherlock. Their union, over the past two years, had been a harmonious one. This is why John had been surprised when Sherlock, who had been silent for the past two days, calmly sat down on the sofa and declared:

"_John, I am going on a holiday"._

"Forgive me, but yes - the idea of Sherlock Holmes going on a - no, scratch that, even NEEDING a holiday is beyond my brain's comprehension." he sputtered, moving from his chair to the kitchen. This alternate reality required tea.

"Your brain's comprehension has been expanded before, hasn't it?" Sherlock spat back, sarcastically. Rosie had weaved her fingers into his thick curls, tugging slightly as if to signal to her father _yeah, what he said!_ Sherlock allowed the young child to tossle his hair. For such a small person, she rarely bothered him. It was the larger...more complex...ones that caused Sherlock annoyance. This one could at least be molded.

John ignored the dig. He knew the bit and depending on the day, which part to play. Sometimes his dimwittedness was pure and the he was "conductor of light" and others days he was ignorant and unobservant. He placed two mugs on the table out of instinct. He knew Sherlock wouldn't drink the tea but he always provided him with a cup.

"Well, it's not out of the realm of possibility that Sherlock Holmes would never do something as _ordinary _as take a holiday" John responded, his voice calm and smooth. He knew how to play this game. Sherlock was clearly trying to rattle him and if he remained undeterred, the true reason for this sudden urge to vacation would reveal itself.

"Now…" he began, pouring hot water into the two cups. "If Sherlock Holmes had _really_ wanted to take a holiday because a vacationing royal had been murdered, or a body without a head had washed up on the beaches of Normandy, or perhaps a tale of a visiting ghost had begun circulating… then maybe, _just_ _maybe_, I could believe that he wanted to take a -"

"John, I'm _**tired.**_"

The matter of fact tone in Sherlock's voice made John pause. He looked up from his tea pouring to find his friend, and daughter, still before him. Sherlock stared blankly back at him. There was nothing on his face to indicate that this was a joke. In fact, for the first time in a long time, John thought Sherlock did look… tired. It was common for Sherlock to go days without sleeping. However, this weariness in front of him, was something entirely different. He wasn't willing to banter back and forth. It was not Sherlock's intention to convince John of some master plan. No, his friend was just _tired_ and he needed John to _get it_.

John only nodded, slowly moving the tea cup across the table. Rosie, who even seemed to understood, stopped tugging at Sherlock's curls. She blinked softly up at him, silently understanding that she wouldn't be seeing her friend for awhile. She felt suddenly her father's firm hands around her belly, scooping her back to his chest. Rosie didn't protest. Her small brain registered that papa understood too. That's what the Watsons were meant for: understanding people like Sherlock Holmes without much explanation.

"When will you leave?" John asked softly, moving to the sink. He half heartedly moved some dishes around in the sink as he bounced Rosie on his chest. She too looked over his arm into the sink, unwilling to face Sherlock. The Watsons recognized the possibility of losing Sherlock Holmes. It had been pre programmed into their emotional bank. However, they had never been prepared for Sherlock to leave _voluntarily._

"I think it'd be best if I leave tomorrow evening. I've already booked a flight. If I wait any longer, I run the risk of not getting on it." he responded. Sherlock was forcing himself to be absolute. The real hindrance to his plan would be pesty sentiment. It crawled up his chest and into his throat. He hadn't been without John Watson in years, not since he… Well, he knew that was the reason for John's reaction. How could he convince him that he would be back this time? How could he convince Rosie that he wasn't leaving for good? He was just _tired. _Sentiment was replaced with weariness and he sighed heavily, bobbing his teabag up and down in his cup.

"I've planned to be gone for three months. I won't be working. I've instructed Lestrade and Mycroft to stop sending me cases. Unless it is an absolute emergency, involving you or Rosie, then I will not be bothered. The collapse of the world economy or unraveling terrorist networks will have to wait." he said, smirking at the end. He hoped to lighten the mood. He hoped that John would trust him, after everything they had been through.

"Where are you going?" John asked, refusing to engage in any of Sherlock's tactics to lessen this blow. His chest felt tighten as he pushed around a few more dishes, running out of ways to stall since he had no real intention of washing them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, kissing the top of Rosie's head for encouragement. He turned around, waiting for Sherlock's reply.

"America." he heard his flatmate say. Sherlock still had not taken a sip of his tea. John laughed suddenly, one of his deep belly laughs. He shook his head and removed the teacup from Sherlock's grasp like a child who had just lost his privileges of something.

"Oh that's good…" he said, in between bursts of laughter. "The good ole' United States of America is going to welcome Sherlock Holmes with open arms?" he added, placing the tea cup on his sink.

Sherlock pouted, now realizing he was being made fun of. "Yes! Why not?! They certainly owe me a favor or two. I've solved enough crimes for them, including that high profile one involving that pop star who had all of her jewels stolen."

John's eyes widened the memory. He grinned, biting his lip slightly. The sight of it made Sherlock want to jump across the table. "Yes, I remember her".

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, we all remember your incurable infatuation..." he mumbled, running his hands through his hair. "John, do stay on task. I am leaving you and Rosie for _three _months. There is much to discuss." he added, folding his arms across his chest. He had felt less vulnerable with Rosie in his arms. Now even she had seemed to join the side of the prosecution in the case Watson vs. Holmes. He naturally glared at her as if to say _traitor. _The one year old only blinked blankly, suddenly an unresponsive infant. _Convenient, _Sherlock thought.

John sighed, realizing Sherlock wasn't going to budge on this idea. He had known it was a serious declaration the minute it had left Sherlock's lips. Perhaps his stalling was more about giving himself time to accept it and stop the ever growing panic attack in his chest. If there was ever a lesson that the last year had taught John Watson, it was that he _couldn't _be without Sherlock Holmes. Three months would be an eternity. However, Sherlock's blank expression had frightened him. He was used to seeing Sherlock _act_ emotionless. However, very rarely did he see it plastered across his face. This time, however, John couldn't read him. He needed to put his selfishness aside and trust his friend, who after many years, had proven himself to be loyal. Something was going on with Sherlock that only space could cure - even if that meant space from John Watson. Swallowing his pride, John sat down at the kitchen table. Rosie settled onto his lap, clapping her hands softly together as if to signal that she was ready for this conversation. Sherlock smiled sweetly to her as if to say _thank you_. That was at least one Watson in his corner. He waited patiently for John to speak.

"Well, I guess I only have one question…" he said, shrugging his shoulders. Sherlock inhaled a deep breath and allowed it to settle into his chest. He wouldn't exhale, not now. Not with John's final opinion on the matter of being abandoned for three months about to shatter the air.

"Does your entire sock index fit inside a suitcase?" his friend asked. John threw Sherlock one of his winning smiles. A smile that was peaceful and that said _it's going to be okay_. Sherlock exhaled as if to signal that he believed him.


End file.
